Love Doesn't Adhere To Time And Boundaries
by CTMsunday
Summary: A modern-day Turnadette fic.


**A/N: This is an edited version (extra at the end), to lengthen and finish this first chapter. The next update will be chapter 2!**

**Dedicated to MMEPAC for being incredibly brilliant (and daft, mad, insane, cheeky) friends, and a late 3 month celebration!**

Waiting for the bus, Shelagh Mannion's attention turned to the sudden ring of her phone signalling the arrival of a text message, coming from deep within her coat pocket.

She read the screen in the dim light of 7:07am.

"_Hi babe, you coming over tonight?" _It read.

Sighing, she looked at the surroundings of the bus stop. The leaves from the the tree above danced along to the low moan of the wind. She'd 'loved' Matthew, but he had become more demanding and domineering as time went on, to the point she questioned whether she was happy in the relationship. After asking for the advice of her friends, she ended the relationship but Matthew was still persistent. His text, therefore, was not a welcome sight.

Typing out a reply to him, Shelagh explained that she had a meeting after work and didn't know what time it would end, so didn't want to arrange anything. Briefly, she silently berated herself for not saying an outright 'No!' to him.

The bus rounded the corner just as she taped the 'send' button, and picked up her picked from it's place on the path between her feet and stepped onto the bus.

Having made the same journey for two years, five times a week, she recognized many of the ones who travelled at the same time. The old woman who always carried the same shopping bag dotted with pictures of cats. The teenager who sat on the bottom deck of the bus until his friend joined him two stops away, and then both move up to the top, why the first didn't just meet him at the top Shelagh had never worked out.

Then there was the man who got on the bus as it crawled it's way through the town. His hair always messy as if he had just got out of bed and his suit tie never matching the colour of his shirt, but there was something about him that made her inwardly smile to herself when he got on. He brightened her day with his presence on the bus, however, neither had ever uttered a word to each other.

He got on the bus, in his usual quiet manner, but Shelagh noticed something was different about him, the way his shoulder hunched over more than they normally would and downcast expression with eyes that only stared blankly as he looked round for a spare seat.

As the bus moved once more, he slowly made his way to the seat next to her. No eye contact. No smile. No greeting was exchanged between the two of them.

Shelagh's stop came first, she bundled her headphones and mobile into her backpack, pressed the bell and waited for the bus to stop.

Gently touching the man's arm, their eyes met. Hers were depths of blue warmth, like the sea on a tropical island. His were bleak as the sky on a stormy day. He stood to let her pass and he down back down heavily again in his seat.

His name was Patrick.

Patrick was a hard working man, kind and honest, but ever-so-slowly his age crept toward middle age. He had found love with his wife when they first met several years earlier. They had decided after only three months of courtship that they would get married, and the summer of that year, they exchanged their vows in Poplar registery office. Blissfully they lived in their small flat just outside of London. Elizabeth, or Lizzy as she was known to Patrick, was a few years younger than him but the age gap never bothered him. Why should it? They loved each other, that was all that mattered.

'Loved'. The past tense was now true.

Together they came to a mutual agreement that they wanted to enjoy each other before any children came along. So for many years they stayed as a couple. Patrick was happy. Sublimely happy. He never thought he could be happier; but when his son Timothy Patrick Turner was born, his heart burst with parental love. They had become a family.

When Tim was a few months old, Patrick noticed the change in Lizzy. It wasn't obvious, but he knew everything about her and could write an essay based on how she climbed the stairs every morning to collect their son whilst he ate breakfast. Her steps around the house became heavier and sharper in their movement, and her patience thinned. Many of Patrick's close friends put it down to post-natal depression, but, having worked in obstetrician for several years already, he had seen slightly different signs of those his wife had. Every time her phone rang, she jumped up to answer it. Every text she received was to be read only by her, and very often she would go out of the same room Patrick was sitting in to read it.

Before long, he found out late one night that she had been having an affair. Despite this, he still loved her. His Lizzy. He couldn't be asked to rip out his wife from his heart and abandon her like a piece of litter on the street. But that's exactly what _she_ did. She abandoned him; taking Tim with her.

Patrick was distraught when he found the letter on the coffee table one morning. She apologised once again for realising so late that she didn't believe in their marriage, or the love that was supposedly shared. But went on to explain how she couldn't just leave Tim, the baby that was a part of her. One thing she forgot, however, was he was a part of Patrick too. And Patrick was determined to fight back for him...


End file.
